Category Archives: up josephine in my flying machine

A Little’s Enough

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I wrote fan mail once and I mean like once in my whole life. 

I facebooked Tom Delonge from Angels & Airwaves (also Blink 182) and tried at first to NOT sound like a deranged teenager and then gave up because who cares?  I wrote about what his music had meant to me at an especially wounded time.  I went ahead and threw in a “you saved my life.”  I’d be more ashamed except I really truly meant it.

Secret Crowds

Everything’s Magic

Love Like Rockets

A Little’s Enough

 

As I was writing a chat window popped up and “Tom” asked me for my info to send me free tickets.  It was obviously a hacker, and I don’t recall whether I bothered to hit send on my email or not.

All that to say that as much as I like to think of myself as someone who holds her shit together around people who are celebrities, Tom Delonge was above and beyond.  If I met him?  Pregnant and out on rape charges.  That’s how that would go down.

This weekend I had a mild inner ear infection.  The kind that make you dizzy, really, really dizzy.  I spent my weekend on the couch crocheting.  I was feeling better today and in yoga pants I’d put on Friday night and never bothered to change, I took my bike up to the corner grocery store.  It’s important to have a visual of my wet hair, sequined tshirt with cat hair, and bike helmet.  I had about 18 items in my cart but since I’m in that store like every third day I know that the express lanes are often waiting and totally accepting of more items.  I have the decency to pretend to care when I start unloading my items onto the counter. 

“I hope they don’t count past 15,” I mutter to the tattooed elbow in the corner of my vision, just so I don’t seem like the bitch who ignores signs.  Rocket ship tattoos, it registers.  Really awesome rocke- HOLYSHIT.

HOLYSHIT.

HOLYSHIT.

THIS IS HAPPENING.

HOLYSHIT.  I know who that is.  I glance at the clock beyond his head.  Yep, that’s Tom Delonge.  I pretend to consult my blank wrist to the time on the clock.  Still very Tom Delonge.  Stop looking at a blank wrist.  Tom is buying groceries with his daughter Ava.  I am melting down while wearing cat hair, sequins and a bike helmet.  He’s attempting to do normal people things.  I’M attempting to do normal people things while watching him do normal people things.  Do not touch him.  DO NOT BURY YOUR FACE IN HIS TSHIRT AND CRY, VJ.  STOP MUTTERING THESE INSTRUCTIONS TO YOURSELF  TO YOURSELF UNDER YOUR BREATH HE MIGHT HEAR YOU.

He turns and looks at me.  I hope I wasn’t making strange strangled noises, I don’t think I was, but who really fucking knows?  His eyes meet mine and my face splits in an enormous smile and there was a moment of I-know-you-know-that-I-know-and-I-know-that-you-know-that-I-know and Ava said “Daddy!  something I didn’t catch.”

.

.

The cashier said “cash back?” and I stopped blinking. 
“That was Tom Delonge from Blink-182, you know.”
“Was it?”
“He’s kind of the only person that I don’t know that I totally care about.”
“You should catch him in the parking lot.  I’ll hold your stuff.”
“No ……. I don’t think I could do any better with words.”

Hello from Denmark!

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They say traveling will really teach you a lot about yourself.  So far I’m learned that going 60 hours with no sleep and adding two cocktails to the mix will create a very interesting VJ.

Other things I’ve learned include:

87% of this planet’s attractive men are currently in the Brussels airport right now.  In a suit.  Just standing around.  I had to sprint through to make my connection, and I’ve never wanted to stay and improve international relations anyplace more.

60% of those men appear to have been on their way to Copenhagen.  I think I’m going to like it here.

Also?  Danish nachos are AWESOME.

Danish nachos are delicious

Poor me.

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Here’s a picture of me waiting to pick up my passport.  As you might be able to see, I was full of The Whine.  This was day two of getting up at an hour that I’m not I’m not exaggerating when I call ungodly.  I actually think God disapproves of four am.  And driving to LA.  LA, the only place on earth you can hit traffic before the sun rises.  Two days of the most creative arrangement of lines, and one very persistant and well-dressed crazy man who kept wanting to lay hands on me and pray.  (I told him only men significantly more or significantly less religious are allowed to do that.)  Airport-like security checks at a door I was required to go in and out of repeatedly to find the next line to stand in.

Bethany came home from work to find me sprawled out on the couch, and as she set down her briefcase and gym bag she listened to my tale of first world woe.  She offered to get me a beer and then made me mac and cheese.  And it struck me how fucking spoiled I am.

There are people waiting days in line for food, instead of a passport, and arguably one of the most coveted types of passports.  There are so many people without the time or resources to travel.  And very few people have a sister in law who’d baby them after a long day at work.

Zia married Lele.

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She asked me if I could believe it.  I met Zia the same week she met Lele, (although I didn’t meet him until much later) and two years later, to the day, she was marrying him.

They have a large family wedding coming up in Boston, but for various reasons, it was much easier to be legally wed in their home state of California.  Lele was under the impression that they would simply be going to the courthouse some times this week, but Zia …….. well, she sort of owed him a surprise.  Lele’s proposal to her involved her leaving her house thinking they were going for sushi, and ending up in the middle of a Guatemalan lake, looking for a shaman.  Really I’ll let her tell it.

So Zia planned a surprise wedding.  The tuxedo tshirt was bought, the hot air balloon hired, and Lele’s friend Crazy Ray* agreed to come as the witness.  I went through the shocking simple process (in this state anyway) of becoming certified to marry people to each other.

*(With a name like Crazy Ray, I assumed he sold mattresses, or maybe used cars, for a living.  Turns out he’s some sort of UFC fighter, with a neck so large we couldn’t get a bow tie around it.)

I got up Sat morning, pre-ass-crack-of-dawn, (no, really, three thirty am) and drove a hour and a half into a local wine growing area to meet the rest of the wedding party.  You might be wondering, if I donned a clerical collar, the apparel of God’s annointed servants, wouldn’t I be struck down by lightning?  Well, on the drive up, a meteor passed mere yards from my car.  Clearly it was a warning shot, across the deck.  I think He was trying to say he understood this time, but ONLY BARELY.

Photo by Zia

Lele had just been formally invited to his own wedding, via an invitation handed to him by Zia, in the car.  He’d been attempting to guess what had her wake him up so early for, and as close as he got was Renaissance Fair.

Photo by Zia

He was really touched.  He had felt a courthouse wedding would feel “anti-climatic” for he and Zia.

Photo by me, on Zia's camera

Since he was now in on it, I could reveal my clerical collar.  Slowly.  To a beat.  I am a full service minister, folks.

Photo by Zia

Photo by Zia

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Zia gave me the perfect finishing touch, a tiny tophat.  I love the tiny tophat.  I don’t know how I ever existed without a tiny tophat before.  If you asked if I’m wearing it right now the answer would be …….. well, no, but I wish I was.

Photo by Zia

The sunrise ride was truly lovely, and I didn’t flub any of my lines.  The cake, lovingly crafted by Sam, was delicious.  I’ll let the pictures tell the story, because I think they paint a better picture than my words of how adorable they are, and how magical it was to be a part of this with them.

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Photo by Lele

Photo by Zia

Photo by Zia

Photo by Ray

Photo by Ray

Photo by Zia, Cake by Sam

Photo by me

Photo by me

Photo by me

Photo by me

Photo by me

Photo by me

Photo by Lele

Photo by Zia

Photo by Zia

Photo by Zia

Photo by Zia (obviously)

Photo by me

It was so magical in fact, that they invited me on their honeymoon.

And I went.

I’m a FULL.  SERVICE.  MINISTER.  folks.